Read Online A Savage Hunger (Paula Maguire 4) by Claire McGowan - Free Book Online
Authors: Claire McGowan
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finish school, for some reason.’
‘And they still let him in here?’
Corry gave a small snort. ‘The wonders of money, Maguire. Not that your woman Hooker there would admit it. She’s a tough customer.’
Paula looked round at the university, the early evening light soft on the building’s grey stone walls. Horses in the fields, bending their heads to the rich grass. No drought problems here. ‘Seems a weird place for a lord’s daughter.’ There’d been a few of Alice’s type at Greenwich, where Paula had studied – privileged, brought up to let their voices ring out loud and proud, no regional accent to be ashamed of. No one asking them to repeat themselves or had they grown up on a farm. Ski tans and rowing hoodies. She’d been permanently weighed down by the chip on her Northern Irish shoulder – part of the reason she’d got a first was she’d hated everyone on her course too much to socialise with them. Or maybe she was just prejudiced.
‘She missed a lot of school, remember,’ said Corry, as they drew down the long driveway. ‘She went to Warwick but couldn’t hack it, dropped out last year.’
Paula said, ‘Did you go to university?’ There was still so much she didn’t know about Helen Corry, despite having worked with her for nearly three years now.
‘Me? No, straight into the job. Didn’t see the point.’
‘I guess they don’t think much about the point, here. Alice probably felt at home, if she spent her life in clinics and boarding schools.’
‘It’s a haven for the mad and rich, Maguire. For when their parents want rid of them and are happy to pay. Question is, why did Alice leave? If she chose to live in that damp wee cottage, she wanted away from something. Or someone.’
‘Katy?’
‘Could be. Sharing small quarters can get tough – though she was at boarding school all her life, she’d be used to it.’
‘We need to speak to this so-called boyfriend. Whoever’s boyfriend he is.’
‘That’s what we’re doing.’ Corry had parked on the edge of a playing field. The sun had dipped now, and a breeze with a slight chill picked up. Across the pitch, with the lake at their backs, came a troop of warriors. Four young men, all over six foot, every muscle visible in Lycra suits. On their shoulders, like some pagan sacrifice, they carried a boat. Corry opened the door and called them over, but even without being told Paula already knew which one was Peter Franks. He was the one everyone else looked to.
Men and their attractions was something of a difficult topic between Paula and Corry. Occasionally the older woman would offer a bit of parenting advice, like how to stop Maggie’s teething pains or deal with her nursery. Corry’s children were now sixteen and fourteen, and she’d long since divorced their father, who she described as ‘a useless streak of piss’. But she’d never asked Paula whose child Maggie might be, or what exactly had been the relationship between Paula and her former boss, Guy. In her turn, Paula didn’t ask how Corry felt about the fact she’d been sleeping with a killer, one who’d hacked into her emails and used them to derail the investigation, and also Corry’s career. One who’d died for it, with a bullet in his head.
But this boy had a gravity, she didn’t deny it. Once Peter had showered – he’d begged ten minutes so he could change, with a smile it was hard to say no to – he met them in the common room. Students sat at the desks or in the seats, talking quietly. Peter returned in soft jeans and a floppy-collared shirt, the same blue as the fading sky outside. The sleeves were rolled up to show his tanned arms, the hairs touched with gold.
‘Ladies.’ He was all charm, but Paula felt Corry bristle slightly.
‘It’s DS Corry and Dr Maguire.’
‘Of course, sorry. Can I get you a drink?’
It was the first one they’d been offered all day. Corry nodded. ‘I’ll have tea. Decaf, please.’ He went to the bar to
‘And they still let him in here?’
Corry gave a small snort. ‘The wonders of money, Maguire. Not that your woman Hooker there would admit it. She’s a tough customer.’
Paula looked round at the university, the early evening light soft on the building’s grey stone walls. Horses in the fields, bending their heads to the rich grass. No drought problems here. ‘Seems a weird place for a lord’s daughter.’ There’d been a few of Alice’s type at Greenwich, where Paula had studied – privileged, brought up to let their voices ring out loud and proud, no regional accent to be ashamed of. No one asking them to repeat themselves or had they grown up on a farm. Ski tans and rowing hoodies. She’d been permanently weighed down by the chip on her Northern Irish shoulder – part of the reason she’d got a first was she’d hated everyone on her course too much to socialise with them. Or maybe she was just prejudiced.
‘She missed a lot of school, remember,’ said Corry, as they drew down the long driveway. ‘She went to Warwick but couldn’t hack it, dropped out last year.’
Paula said, ‘Did you go to university?’ There was still so much she didn’t know about Helen Corry, despite having worked with her for nearly three years now.
‘Me? No, straight into the job. Didn’t see the point.’
‘I guess they don’t think much about the point, here. Alice probably felt at home, if she spent her life in clinics and boarding schools.’
‘It’s a haven for the mad and rich, Maguire. For when their parents want rid of them and are happy to pay. Question is, why did Alice leave? If she chose to live in that damp wee cottage, she wanted away from something. Or someone.’
‘Katy?’
‘Could be. Sharing small quarters can get tough – though she was at boarding school all her life, she’d be used to it.’
‘We need to speak to this so-called boyfriend. Whoever’s boyfriend he is.’
‘That’s what we’re doing.’ Corry had parked on the edge of a playing field. The sun had dipped now, and a breeze with a slight chill picked up. Across the pitch, with the lake at their backs, came a troop of warriors. Four young men, all over six foot, every muscle visible in Lycra suits. On their shoulders, like some pagan sacrifice, they carried a boat. Corry opened the door and called them over, but even without being told Paula already knew which one was Peter Franks. He was the one everyone else looked to.
Men and their attractions was something of a difficult topic between Paula and Corry. Occasionally the older woman would offer a bit of parenting advice, like how to stop Maggie’s teething pains or deal with her nursery. Corry’s children were now sixteen and fourteen, and she’d long since divorced their father, who she described as ‘a useless streak of piss’. But she’d never asked Paula whose child Maggie might be, or what exactly had been the relationship between Paula and her former boss, Guy. In her turn, Paula didn’t ask how Corry felt about the fact she’d been sleeping with a killer, one who’d hacked into her emails and used them to derail the investigation, and also Corry’s career. One who’d died for it, with a bullet in his head.
But this boy had a gravity, she didn’t deny it. Once Peter had showered – he’d begged ten minutes so he could change, with a smile it was hard to say no to – he met them in the common room. Students sat at the desks or in the seats, talking quietly. Peter returned in soft jeans and a floppy-collared shirt, the same blue as the fading sky outside. The sleeves were rolled up to show his tanned arms, the hairs touched with gold.
‘Ladies.’ He was all charm, but Paula felt Corry bristle slightly.
‘It’s DS Corry and Dr Maguire.’
‘Of course, sorry. Can I get you a drink?’
It was the first one they’d been offered all day. Corry nodded. ‘I’ll have tea. Decaf, please.’ He went to the bar to
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